


You Heard Me?

by verati



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Confident Jon Snow, F/M, Fluff, Flustered Sansa, Mild Smut, Sansa never married Ramsay, Teasing, dadvos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 23:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16417949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verati/pseuds/verati
Summary: Bran is tired of all the pining. He tells Jon a secret Sansa has tried to keep hidden away. It all comes to a head during a small council meeting.The table was not meant for what Jon has in mind.—•—“Is this what you wanted?” Jon’s torturous fingers are unrelenting in their path. They had started at her cheeks, then slid down her sides, until they settled on her hips. “To make me as base as you?”





	You Heard Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, but I’m always down for a confident Jon. It’s my first dip into any form of smut so please be kind!

She should have kept her distance. It had been months since Sansa was no longer able to lie to herself; the feelings she held for Jon were not of the brotherly variety. She is sure she had been discreet. Sansa remained steadfast in her role as the Lady of Winterfell. Arya might be a Faceless man but Sansa could also hide behind a mask.  

“Is this what you wanted?” Jon’s torturous fingers are unrelenting in their path. They had started at her cheeks, then slid down her sides, until they settled on her hips. “To make me as base as you?”

Small council meetings were the place where her self-directed frustrations and anger seemed to come to a head. And sometimes she lost her temper against Jon when they disagreed. Jon and that voice of his, all deepness and rapture. It made her mad how his voice seemed to mock her, “ _Listen to me and pretend I don’t affect you. Try and ignore me, the voice you hear in your head when you touch yourself at night.”_

A sound, Sansa can’t tell if it was a moan or a whimper, almost escapes, “I–I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Jon. If someone were to walk in—”

Today, a Kings Landing raven had arrived from Daenarys requesting Jon’s presence for some event or other. Sansa and Jon had gotten into a row (a frequent occurrence as of late). Jon had dismissed the rest of the council members and barred the heavy doors. Sansa had expected many things. Except this. 

Jon presses himself against her, driving her against the table. He presses himself fully, leaving no mistake about his intentions. “They would see how wanton you truly are. How you hide behind that mask of propriety. When we both know that this,” he lifts her onto the table with ease and hikes up her skirts slowly, allowing her time to rebuke his efforts. _Daring_ her to do so. “Is what you want. To be ravished by your bastard brother turned kingly cousin.”

She should stop this, Sansa knows. His words should offend her, make her push his hands away and push her skirts down. But she doesn’t. Because his words are true. And his _voice_. His voice is low and heated. And it has enchanted her. 

He grinds slowly against her, making sure she feels his manhood as it moves against the place that aches to be touched. “Tell me you want this, dear Sansa.”

Her pride holds her back and doesn’t allow the words to escape her lips.

Until Jon stops moving.

The spark he ignited flares in anger at being left bereft. Sansa feels despair of a different breed when Jon simply stares at her with his grey eyes. Waiting. Because he knows she will break. 

“I want this.” Sansa knows what Jon wants to hear. “I want _you_.”

There is no hesitation from either party. Her words are the drop that broke the dam.

Their lips clash in a frenzy. He is a skilled player and she is his instrument. She is a painter and he is her canvas. A million and one phrases could be written about the moment their lips touched but none would do the moment justice. 

Except maybe this: it felt like coming home. 

After denying herself for so long Jon’s lips moving against hers is almost overwhelming. She feels like there is not enough oxygen in the room. Even as his lips leave her mouth to trail a path down her jaw to her collarbone she finds it hard to control her breathing. 

“Oh, sweet girl. I thought I was the only one who felt this way. How long,” he nips at her neck, “I’ve waited for you.”

Sansa feels his words as they graze the top of her breasts. She looks down and is met with Jon’s eyes looking up at her through his black eyelashes. 

“You have?”

He plants kisses across her heaving chest. “Mm. I have, even before Bran told me you felt the same as I did. I didn’t believe him.” Jon tugs the front of her dress down and exposes her chest. He doesn’t take long in making her feel absolutely delightful. His mouth teasing and laving away at her nipples. Sansa’s breath hitches. “He didn’t elaborate but I knew how _I_ felt...and then I _heard_ you.”

His hands are now playing with the ties of her smallclothes, pulling them apart slowly. Not once does Jon break eye contact. 

Sansa swallows to try and bring back moisture to her throat. “Heard me?” Her ability with words seems to be lost at the moment. Jon’s attentions have reduced her to simple repetition. 

The smallclothes land without a sound to the floor. She is exposed to him as she had never been to any other. Sansa feels a wetness start to form. She tries to clamp her thighs together but Jon eases himself within that space.

“I went to talk to you after Bran told me. I heard you saying my name. _Moaning_ it in your bed chambers yesterday.” She feels the heat of his hand hover over her mound. “I couldn’t see you but I heard the sweet sounds that flowed from your mouth.” A fingertip runs across her slit, and Sansa whimpers. “Just like that. And the desires you voiced out loud...How I wanted to barge into your room and pleasure you myself.”

“Jon..please.” He slips a finger into her pulsing heat, rocking in and out. All while his thumb teases the pearl she had touched the night he overheard her. “I need, I need more.”

“As my queen commands.”

His sinful fingers leave her and Sansa almost cries from the frustration she feels. “Please, Jon.” She doesn’t care if she is begging but she will not be denied when she is so close to release. 

He begins to kneel and his head is soon hidden under the fabric of her skirts. 

_He can’t mean to... Is this a proper way to—Oh!_

_“_ Oh, seven hells! Fuck,  _Jon_.” She whines his name. She doesn’t care that she is cursing and all thoughts of propriety fly out the window when Jon’s beautiful mouth acquaints itself with her cunt. 

The sounds are obscene, her hips cant forward, and she needs to _see_ him. She struggles to gather her skirts up against her waist. But when she does, the sight that greets her is worth the effort. His curls are in disarray, the wetness of her is glinting in his beard, the light coming through the window chisels his cheekbones to perfection and when he looks up at her, pupils blown and tongue darting out to continue its task...it is an image that will forever be seared into Sansa’s mind. 

If his fingers sparked her desire, his mouth consumes her like wildfire.  

Just as she’s on the cusp of otherworldly pleasure, someone raps on the door. 

“Your grace, Lady Sansa?” Davos’ voice is muffled against the thickness of the door. “Will we resume the meeting or have you resolved the matter between yourselves?”

Sansa cannot speak. She fears her voice has left her body. Jon smirks and licks his lips before responding, “Aye, we’ve resolved it. We’ll be out in a few moments.”

They listen as Davos steps away from the door.

“I’ll tell my aunt she will have to do without me.” Jon stands and smooths out her skirts. Not before tucking her smallclothes away. Sansa blushes.

She feels unsteady as Jon pulls her off the table to his chest. “You will stay?”

He kisses her deeply, and Sansa can taste herself on his tongue. 

“Of course. We still have a...matter to resolve. Unless,” Sansa can see a slip in his confidence. He was nervous, the cockiness in his demeanor gone. “You want to stop.”

His moment of uncertainty reminds Sansa that this is _Jon_. He would never hurt her. He said he felt the same as her. Sansa feels daring. She presses her palm against his length, hidden within the confines of his breeches. Jon hisses.

“Once we leave this room and go to my chambers, I will show you just how much I don’t want to stop. You have left me wanting, Jon.” She rubs her thighs together to ease some of the tension. Jon smirks as he sees her movement. “And that is cruel.”

He takes her hand in his, and leads her towards the door. “Cruel? Well, my lady, let me redeem myself. Over and over again.”


End file.
